Becalmed

So why do I bother to write a blog?
Does it reward me? Do I profit?
Why do I struggle with an inadequate body typing letter by letter?
It's a waste of time. It takes the life out of me, it drains me.
So why bother?

I returned home yesterday. After a month of being in hospital;
every day rushing between therapy sessions and test appointments.
A day without appointments, just silence.
In the quiet thoughts drift aimlessly, becalmed on a deep ocean of feeling.
So I write to stop the mutiny arising from the idle activity of meandering aimlessly.

Speaking to myself makes poor company.
Looking at a screen "flipping" virtual cards...
Kings, Queens, Jacks and impatience.
I have checked my email an facebook, but with mixed emotions, nothing new.
I am not lonely, just alone in my sea of feeling.

I write because for a moment in time; the aching, the aimless drifting, stops.
Just for a moment I feel substantial.
The hollow echoes become distinct.
My soul surfs on the breath of purpose.
Spent, the gust ends....

This Place

This Place

Like an outstretched hand, beckoning with promises of the past

The memories call to me, fleeting glimpses of faded times.
I long to be there. When I walked, ran, sang for joy

I see the curly blonde hair on my daughters round face as she bounces and hops

The grass tickling my ear while we play on the long grass

Yes yesterday you seducer. You cannot be what you promise

Your promises are spent currency

Memories are not places, memories are not promises

I will stay in my sadness. My reality is a place

This place is where I am

Death

I saw death.

In nights still

It came to me and

So I saw

A dullness.

Without courage for

black or white.

Pigment poor

Devoid of shape

And touch

Crumbling cowardly into dust.

Nothing left.

Like a mermaid

To ancient mariners

Death calls us

Resist its’ rest

Tho’ it sweetly calls

And beguiles

It mentions not

That to a word

Is a lie

An empty promise

The sense

only absurd.